In The Shadow of Milton
by EKWTSM9
Summary: The third, and last, of a trilogy that started with "The Promise" and continued with "Passages".


**In The Shadow of** _ **Milton**_

 **This is the third, and final, instalment of what originally was a one-shot. It started with "The Promise", continued with "Passages" and I can guarantee it will end with this. Many thanks to those who have read and responded so positively to the first two. And if anyone knows what I mean by the title, cool!**

He felt a hand drop heavily onto his shoulder and he looked up from the file he had been studying into his partner's smiling face. With a quiet self-conscious snort, he grinned back, shaking his head slightly and letting his eyes slide back to the papers on the desk in front on him. Since he had gone back to work the day before, a growing number of his colleagues had taken whatever opportunity presented itself to demonstrate their joy and relief at his return. His partner was leading the way.

Anderson flopped down onto his chair; their desks were pushed together so they faced each other. He studied Mike's downturned head for several seconds. "Are you feeling okay? You look a little tired today."

Mike's raised his head and met his partner's stare evenly. "I feel great," he said with a smile, well aware that it wasn't reflecting in his eyes. "My stamina is a bit low right now, but it's getting better. I'm okay."

Anderson nodded noncommittally. "Everything okay at home?"

Mike turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Why would you ask that?" he said quietly and watched as his partner shook his head vigorously.

"Ah, no reason, just a… you know, a shot in the dark. Sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"No, it's okay," Mike cut him off, a quick smile surfacing. He swallowed. "Oh, you know, Helen is just a little worried I came back too soon; she's still a little over-protective."

"Well, she has every reason to be," Anderson responded as he sat forward and reached for a form on the corner of his desk, sliding it into the typewriter on the sidetable. "I think you should have stayed home another week but I have to admit I'm really glad you're back."

Swallowing a smile, Mike dropped his eyes to the file once more. "Me too," he agreed quietly, hoping, as he reached for the pen on the desk, that the trembling of his hand went unnoticed.

# # # # #

He glanced at his watch, then up at the window. The sun was beginning to set; where had the afternoon gone? He looked around the office; the room was half-empty, the sergeants and inspectors remaining busy with paperwork and phone calls. Anderson's jacket was still over the back of his chair; Mike didn't remember seeing him leave.

Standing, he pulled his own jacket from the back of his chair and shrugged it on. He took the few short steps to the coat rack in Lieutenant Giles inner office and retrieved his fedora. Dropping it onto his head, he patted his jacket pocket, feeling for his car keys.

As he got to the outer door, it opened and Anderson stepped briskly into the office. "Oh, ah, you're leaving?" the tall dark-haired sergeant asked, seemingly flustered.

Mike flashed a perfunctory smile. "Yeah, I need to get home," he began quickly, then seemed to catch himself. "I'm, ah, I'm kinda tired, and I'm gonna take the day off tomorrow. Maybe I am pushing myself a little too hard and too fast," he finished lamely.

"Oh, ah, good, good." Anderson looked around nervously then his eyes settled on his partner again. "Look, ah, before you leave, do you have a few minutes? There's something I want to talk to you about."

Mike resisted the urge to look at his watch; he could hear the naked appeal in Anderson's voice and it was a little disturbing. He hesitated for a second then nodded. "Sure…sure, Bill, what do you need?"

"Uh, just let me get my coat, maybe we can grab a quick beer down the street. How does that sound?"

With reluctance, but trying valiantly to hide it, Mike agreed.

# # # # #

Mike attempted to look at his watch surreptitiously and failed spectacularly. But if Anderson noticed, he made no mention of it. He was making his way to their small table with two beers in hand. He sat as he placed one on the table in front of Mike, keeping his hand on the second and taking a quick sip as he leaned back.

"Thanks," Mike said without enthusiasm, not touching the glass as he seemed to shake himself out of his reverie and look up at his partner. "So, what do you want to talk to me about?"

Anderson, glancing up almost guiltily, leaned forward and laid his forearms on the table. "Look, ah, I know you're anxious to get home, so I won't beat around the bush… and I really don't know how to softball this so…" He took a deep breath, staring at the table, then met the other man's frown with a contrite smile. "Mike, I want you to be the first to know… I've put in for a transfer… I'm getting out of Homicide."

His frown deepening, Mike sat back slowly, dropping his hands onto his lap. "Bill…"

"Hear me out, please," Anderson interjected quickly, hands up. "Since you got shot, Marilyn… well, Marilyn's been on me about, you know, about the kids and what would happen if I got hurt on the job or, god forbid, killed, you know… and it's been on my mind too." He inhaled deeply and looked down at the table. "Seeing you lying there on the sidewalk… and all that blood…" He looked up and met Mike's sober stare evenly. "We were lucky, Mike, you know that. You coulda died on that sidewalk and there was nothin' I could do about it… and I can't stop thinking about that too…"

Mike cleared his throat lightly and looked down.

After several seconds, Anderson continued softly, "I talked to Rudy this morning and I'm gonna fill out the paperwork tomorrow. He thinks there's an opening in Robbery; he heard Barney Lujack is itching to get outa there into Homicide, so it just might be a swap, you know…" He tried an encouraging smile as Mike looked up. "You know Barney pretty well, right?"

Mike smiled back, nodding, and there was a sadness in his eyes that froze Anderson to his seat. Eventually he found his voice again. "Listen, Mike… this was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make. I think we're a great team and I –"

"Bill," Mike interrupted quietly, a warm gentleness in his voice, "you don't have to explain yourself. I understand more than you could know. And I don't blame you, or Marilyn, one bit. If Helen asked me to get out of Homicide, especially after what just happened, I'd have to think about that too, you know…"

"She hasn't?"

Mike shook his head, smiling fondly. "No. She knows it's where I want to be… and I know I can't stop her from worrying but… no…"

Anderson's grin was quick and affectionate. He stared at his partner of three years with a melancholic wistfulness. "I'm gonna miss you," he said with a chuckle, picking up his beer and holding it out in a toast.

Laughing quietly, Mike picked his own beer bottle up and tapped it against Anderson's. "Yeah, right…" he muttered with gentle sarcasm.

His eyes alight, Anderson brought the beer to his lips. Before taking a sip, he laughed, "Maybe I can talk my next partner into wearing a fedora too."

# # # # #

"Hey, sweetheart, sorry I'm late," Mike whispered as he stepped through the light blue curtains in the hospital ward, his fedora in his hand.

Helen's worry-lined face split into a grin as her eyes fell on her husband as he moved to the side of the bed and bent down to plant a kiss on her welcoming mouth. As he pulled his head back, she licked her lips. "You had a beer," she said with a slight accusatory tone.

His quick confused look instantaneously melted away as his eyebrows rose. "Oh, ah, yeah, Bill wanted to go out for a drink after work… sort of a 'welcome back' drink just between us, you know?" With everything on her mind right now, he had decided not to burden her with Anderson's decision to transfer out of Homicide. He would wait till she felt better before he told her, he reasoned.

She smiled warmly. "I'm glad." She put a hand on his forearm as he turned away to drop his hat on the window ledge. "How are you feeling?"

He turned back to her with a wide grin. "I feel just great. Don't you worry about me. But I told Rudy I was gonna take the next couple of days off."

"You didn't tell him, did you?" she asked anxiously.

"No, I did not," he said soothingly as he pulled the metal guest chair closer to the bed and sat, taking her hand in his and squeezing.

Staring at him, she squeezed back, furrowing her brow. "Did you eat?"

Caught out, he dropped his head and chuckled. "No, not yet. I was late getting away from Bill and I wanted to get here as soon as I could."

"Michael…"

"I know, I know," he said petulantly, still looking at the floor. He looked up at his wife from under his brow. "I gotta be careful, I know. If it makes you happy, I'll go down to the cafeteria right now and get myself something." His smile got wider. "Have you eaten?"

Unable to resist his grin, she smiled back and nodded. "Yes, if you could call it that," she chuckled, bobbing her head. "Hospital food…"

He joined in the lightness. As he stood up, he slipped his hand out of hers and leaned over the bed. "I'll see if I can find you something good while I'm in the cafeteria," he said as he gave her a kiss then turned to step through the curtains.

"Mike," she called, and he spun back. She shook her head. "I can't," she said quietly, her eyebrows rising.

He frowned then closed his eyes and nodded. "Right. Sorry… I forgot." He stepped back to the bed and gave her another kiss. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

She watched him go, then closed her eyes and bit her lip. She thought back to their meeting a week ago with her GP, then the meeting with the specialist three days later. The news hadn't been good to begin with, and had only gotten worse. And it was all happening so fast.

And now here they were, in the hospital. She was scheduled for surgery in the morning. They would take a piece of the lump in her breast and have it biopsied while she remained on the operating table; if it was found to be cancerous, she would undergo an immediate radical mastectomy.

Once that was done, there would be the regimen of radiation and chemotherapy. But her cancer specialist had been very specific and forthright: if the lump was found to be cancerous, her chances of eradication or remission were very slim.

About twenty minutes later, her husband pushed his way through the curtains once again. He had a covered plate in one hand, a glass of milk in the other. She smiled as he crossed to the overbed table, which had been pushed to the foot of the bed, and put the plate down. "What did you find that was edible?" she asked with a chuckle.

Chortling, he put the glass down then pulled a knife and fork and some napkins out of his jacket pocket. "Some macaroni and cheese that looked… palatable," he said lightly. "I was gonna go for the fried chicken and French fries but remembered it wasn't on my diet yet."

"Good for you," she laughed warmly as he pushed the overbed table closer towards her then sat on the edge of the bed, facing her, and took the lid off the plate. She wrinkled her nose. "That doesn't smell half bad."

"I know," he said with exaggerated surprise, laughing. "Let's see how it tastes." He speared a piece of macaroni with the fork and popped it into his mouth. She watched as he chewed, frowning, then grinned. "Eminently edible," he crowed, and she laughed lovingly.

"Why the knife?"

"What?" he asked around a mouthful of his dinner, eyebrows on the rise.

"You got macaroni and cheese. Why the knife?"

He looked at the said piece of cutlery lying beside the plate and froze. "I have no idea," he said slowly, with a shrug. "Force of habit, I guess."

She chuckled tenderly, her eyes crinkling as she grinned at her spouse. She had no idea what she would do without him. And as she watched him eat, she thought back to just a few weeks before when she had to stand by helplessly as he fought for his life. She was so sure she was going to lose him then, but she hadn't, and for that she would be forever grateful.

# # # # #

He had put the dirty dishes on the windowsill and pushed the overbed table away. Sitting in the metal chair once more, he took her hand and they stared into each other's eyes.

She squeezed his hand and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Did we do the right thing, honey?"

"Jeannie?" he asked softly.

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

He smiled reassuringly and squeezed her hand firmly. "I think so. Don't you?"

Her eyes suddenly bright, she nodded, tight-lipped, at him. "I do. But it just feels, I don't know… not wrong, but… well, you know what I mean…"

He nodded. "I do," he said quietly. "But I think it's best for her right now. After what she went through… with me," he swallowed the words, "she doesn't need this too. Not when we don't know what's going on either."

Helen bobbed her head, trying to look confident but not quite succeeding. "No, you're right. Besides, it'll give her a chance to get to know her cousins a little better."

Two days ago, they had put Jeannie on a flight to Kansas City to stay with Helen's younger sister, Catherine Bradshaw, and her family.

Helen reached out and took her husband's hand. She looked deeply into his eyes, smiling, and he smiled back. "They're not going to let you stay all night, you know," she said quietly, "and I don't care how many times you flash that badge of yours."

"I know," he grinned, "but they're gonna have to kick me out like they did last night." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, and watched as tears sprung to his wife's eyes.

# # # # #

It was close to 10 p.m. when he opened the front door and stepped wearily over the threshold. The house was pitch dark, and in his exhaustion he fumbled for the light switch before he snapped it on. A lamp beside the sofa sprang to life. Tossing the keys on a nearby sidetable, he plodded towards the kitchen.

He stepped through the entranceway and stopped. He cocked his head but, other than the electric hum of the refrigerator, all he could hear was the oppressive silence.

When again, if ever, would he hear his wife bustling in the kitchen when he stepped through the door after a long and difficult day, enveloped by the welcoming smells of her cooking, by the warm and loving look that would wash over him when their eyes met; would he ever hear again the heartwarming giggle of his beautiful and energetic daughter, running to meet him at the door or snuggling between them on the bed.

Suddenly he gasped for air and his knees buckled. He leaned back against the fridge and squeezed his eye shut. And as sobs began to wrack his entire frame, he sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his upraised knees and dropping his head, no longer able to contain the grief and worry that had filled his soul.

He knew his life would never be the same.

# # # # #

"Hey, man, finally made it! Sorry, had a late class!" The tall blond yelled over the cacophony of the crowded bar as he dropped down heavily onto the wooden chair, letting the mug of beer slam onto the table, spilling slightly.

The darker-haired young man looked up and smiled. "Paul! Geez, I was wondering when you were gonna get here. I was just about to leave!"

"So," the blond said, watching a curly-haired redhead give him the eye as she passed their table and disappeared into the crowd, "ah, so, what was so important you wanted to meet here tonight."

His companion took a folded piece of letter-sized paper out of the breast pocket of his checked shirt and dropped it on the table, bobbling his eyebrows.

Frowning, but with a curious smile, Paul picked up the paper and opened it, glancing at his friend then reading the typed letter. The smile disappeared and his eyes widened; finished, his gaze moved slowly and deliberately from the paper to the other man's anticipatory stare.

"Son of a bitch, you did it! I didn't think you were serious!"

With another bobble of his eyebrows, his table companion picked up his beer bottle, gave a brief air toast and chuckled. "I told ya I was going to. I have to admit, though, I was a little surprised I'd be accepted right away."

Paul tossed the letter onto the table, picked up his bottle and raised it into the space between them. "Congratulations! Your next beer is on me, man." He glanced back down at the letter and laughed, shaking his head. "Wow, you really did it!" He looked at his friend again. "I'm proud of you, Steve, I really am. You're gonna make a great cop!"

Steve Keller picked up the letter, folded it carefully and put it back in his pocket.

He had no idea what his future had in store.


End file.
